Wolf’s gaze swept over them both. “Goal isn’t just to push aid through. It’s to get it done right. Protect convoy, supplies, and people. That route gives us the best shot.”
Gabriella’s jaw clenched tightly, her thoughts guarded behind a wall of stubborn resolve. He saw the fire still burning fierce in her eyes, unyielding and raw, but the cold logic of the situation slowly settled in. After a tense pause, she finally spoke with reluctant acceptance. “Alright,” she said, “but I want live ETAs. We can’t waste minutes.” He could tell she hated the fact that they needed the escorts, that relying on them felt like a concession, but she swallowed her pride for the sake of the mission. In that quiet surrender, Picasso caught a flicker of something deeper—trust, or maybe just the hard reality they both faced.
Picasso gave a curt nod. “Understood.”
Wolf pulled out his sat phone. “This just changed the fight,” he muttered under his breath. “We need eyes on the ground. I’m calling Tex.”
Without hesitation, he dialed the number. Picasso’s eyes widened in surprise. He hadn’t expected Wolf to know Tex wellenough to call him directly—and certainly not on a sat phone. Picasso had heard the legends: Tex, a Navy SEAL medically retired after losing a leg on a mission, now their indispensable cyber wizard. Behind a screen, Tex was their eyes and ears, able to pull intel from places no one else could reach. Despite the stories, Picasso had never spoken to him personally.
A crisp click snapped through the speaker, followed by a slow, unmistakable drawl cutting clear through the static.
“Well now, trouble already, Wolf? Heard ’bout that detour y’all took. Smart move, I gotta say. East of you, near those old silver mines, it’s gettin’ mighty crowded.”
Wolf blinked in surprise, though he shouldn’t have been. Tex was always two steps ahead, with ears everywhere—like he was plugged straight into the matrix.
Picasso stared at Wolf, stunned, forgetting they were on speaker. “How the hell did he know that?”
Tex’s booming laugh came back. “You’ll learn, young ’un.”
“We just caught a coordinated hit,” Wolf said. “Need real-time eyes on Federal Highway 45 through the canyon stretch. And anything you see on the cartel around the silver mines. I want everything you’ve got, Tex.”
“Got six satellites queued and crossing my private lines already, Wolf. Couple of unconventional sources making calls down south too. Fastest route’s that highway, but I’d keep a hawk’s eye on the dry riverbed north of the abandoned ranch. That area’s showing heat signatures that ain’t cattle grazing.” Tex paused before adding firmly, “Caroline’s safe at the house. Don’t worry about that.”
Wolf exhaled softly, tension slipping from his shoulders. “I still owe you, Tex,” he said with a chuckle.
Picasso gave Wolf a questioning glance.
Through the speaker, Tex growled, “Need more roses? You boys just keep doin’ yours. I’ll have that riverbed rundown foryou in five. And tell that Picasso fella sometimes the longest way ’round is the shortest way home, especially when you’re hauling precious cargo like that.”
Wolf laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah, I sent Tex roses once as a thank-you. Next thing I knew, he flooded me with them for days. The man hates anything more than a quick, one-time thank you.”
Wolf ended the call and slid the phone back into his pocket. A faint flicker of relief crossed his eyes. Tex was already pushing intel their way before they even had a chance to ask.
Before they could look at the route again, Picasso’s SAT phone rang. He looked at it, slightly confused, then answered, “Waverly?”
“Just making sure you have my number, Picasso. Use it as you need it! Make sure Wolf tells you the story about Caroline saving his ass!” Tex laughed before hanging up.
Picasso lowered the phone, the weight of the call still lingering in the air. He glanced over and saw Gabriella already moving—pacing away with tight shoulders and determined eyes. She was focused, all fire. She pushed hard, cutting through red tape without hesitation. Necessary, yes. Unpredictable by design.
In his ordered world, she was both a risk and a resource, a wildcard that could win or lose the game. He needed her passion, but it had to be contained. Controlled.
Pressure mounted not just from the cartel but from the clock. Every minute counted. Victims. Mission. Team. The cartel set the pace, and that validated his caution. Wolf’s call to Tex drove the point home. Every advantage mattered.
NINE
GABRIELLA
The detour road was bumpier, narrower, winding through low hills dotted with what looked like abandoned farmsteads and the occasional, sleepy village. Hour after hour, the dust-choked landscape crawled by. The extra time gnawed at Gabriella, a constant, irritating hum beneath her skin. She kept her tablet glued to her lap, constantly checked re-routed ground teams, updated supply manifests and the humanitarian reports coming from the disaster zone. Every statistic was a fresh wound.
From the back seat, Gabriella caught glimpses of Picasso’s focused profile as he scanned the road ahead and then glanced down at the updated maps Tex was feeding them in real-time. The new intel highlighted heat signatures and chokepoints Tex had flagged. Watching him felt like observing a chess master who was meticulous and detached, but the pieces were human lives. She hated it even as she grudgingly acknowledged it was effective.
They were passing through a sparse, semi-urban stretch, houses a mix of crumbling concrete and bright, freshly painted plaster. A child played with a deflated soccer ball near a rusted fence. For a fleeting second, the scene felt normal, peaceful.
Then a sharp, metallic ping echoed inside the Humvee, immediately followed by the guttural roar of an engine sputtering and dying. The entire convoy lurched violently as the supply truck ahead, the medical vehicle marked with a red cross and carrying vital medical kits and life-saving drugs, veered sharply after a front tire was blown out by a sniper’s bullet.
“Sniper!” Picasso’s voice cracked sharply over the comms, shattering the moment. “Hurricane, scan rooftops and high ground at ten o’clock. Grizzly, lay down smoke. Reef, quickly check the status of Log Two and report any damage fast. Wolf, cover our six.”
Gabriella’s stomach dropped. Not the medical truck. Her eyes darted to the child frozen mid-kick by the fence, now wide-eyed in the chaos. Panic flared.
